FTB
by S.K. Millz
Summary: Plucky and Babs explore their feelings for each other... and everyone else.
1. Pilot

Babs?

She talks about her boyfriend a lot. Buster. How he's always calling, always texting. How, after school, she wants to slip out through the band room with me just to avoid bumping into him. He'll be waiting for her by the flagpole, and _like there's nothing wrong with that, _per se,_ but shit-Jesus._

We'll hang low at your place, howzat?  
_My_ place?  
Yeah, your place.  
You don't want to go to my place.  
Pluckyyy! 'Course I do! How long've we been friends fer?  
I don't know. Since, like, last marking period?  
Pfft! If by last marking period you mean, like, six years—  
Where do you get six years?  
Side issue! Point is, I've never been to your crib, yo, and we've gotta hide out _somewhere!_

Wendy's, that's where.

Starts raining as soon as we hop out of the car. She screams like it's really that bad and hurtles past me straight into the pull-door, trying to push it.

Trying to push it.

"Soaked," she mutters, "fucking soaked," once we're both safely inside.

With her thumbs she stretches out the hem of her teeshirt. Looks dry from where I'm standing, but she glares at me like it's ruined. Like it's at least partially my fault.

Ugh. Sometimes…

What're you getting?  
I dunno, but I'm flippin starvin. Like Marvin.  
Me too. You like spicy food?  
I love spicy food.  
Hot Cheetos don't count.  
I didn't saaay Hot Cheetos, Plucky.  
Bet you couldn't eat that whole… Four-Alarm Spicy Chicken Sandwich?  
You bet? How much?  
How_ much?_ It was a figure of speech.  
You buy it, I'll eat it. Howzat?

She picks out a table, the one closest to the window. Outside gray rain soaks the sidewalk. We're the only ones in the place.

I ordered the Double. Even offered to trade if she couldn't take the heat. But _like that wasn't funny, Plucky. That wasn't funny at all._

I sit watching her tear open the wrapper, getting sauce all over her fingers. The way she does it, it's like she thinks she's being cute. Messy. Proud of it. Eating like a boy, or whatever.

She takes a bite. She takes another bite.

Eyes.

What do you think?  
It's hot.  
How hot?  
Not _that_ hot.  
Sure you don't wanna trade?  
Nuh-uh. I'm good. Ain't no thang but a chicken wang.  
Yeah, well, don't say I didn't—

Her phone lights up, shuddering violently across the table. Ringtone is a chintzy pop-rap song: _"Are we livin in vain? Are we livin in pain? Girl, remember my—"_

"_Hell_-o?"  
—It's him. Has to be.  
"Hey, babe." _Buster, _she mouths at me. "Where am I? Shit, nowhere. Just hangin out."  
—Bad.  
"With who?"  
—Bad. _Really_ bad.  
"Uh, you know. Shirley. Fifi. The _goyles."  
_—Ooo, the _goyles. _Nice save.  
"You waited for me? D'aww, that's so sweet. I'll make it up to you."  
—She'll make it up to him.  
"Whaddya mean where am I? Didn't I just—?"  
—Shirley's? Fifi's?  
"We're at Wendy's, okay? The one on West Main."  
—Or that.  
"Yep. Uh-huh. No, don't worry about it, babe. I'll call you later. Love you too. Yep. Buh-bye."

She hangs up, letting a huge windy sigh out through her teeth. I chew my french fries.

_What,_ Plucky?  
I didn't say anything.  
You wanted to.  
I dunno. Guess I just don't see what the big deal is.  
The big deal? What're you talking about?  
Buster, he's not a bad guy. We've been buds since—  
What? Last marking period?  
Nooo, like second grade.  
It's not that he's a bad guy. He's just too… _relationshippy.  
_Relationshippy.  
And for someone like me, someone who's not used to, like, giving a shit…

_Bzzzzzt. _My phone ringing this time.

"It gets fucking annoying, okay? You wouldn't understand."

Reaching into my back pocket, "Sorry I brought it up." Buster's calling. Again. Flip the screen around so she can see.

"Well," shrug, "answer it."

"What do I say?"

Shrug. "You'll think of something." Shrug.

Think of something? Think of something _what?_

_Click._

"Hey, uh, Buster?"

"Plucky!" he sounds excited. "What. are. you. doing. _right. now?"_

"Right now? Nothing. Nothing really. Playing _Dark Souls._ SL1 PVP, that's all."

Babs looks lost.

"Extreme," Buster says, probably nodding. "Pyromancy?"

"No pyromancy, no poise, no Dark Wood Grain Ring, no blocking."

"Extreeeeeme," definitely nodding. "In that case, I s'pose a roadtrip would be out of the question."

"Roadtrip? What kind?"

"Just to Wendy's. Not far. The one on West Main."

Shit.

Babs, she's sitting sideways, back arched, legs crossed, one hand cradling her cheek. All she's missing is the cigarette. The fuck couldn't she finish her lie?

"Y'know, Wendy's?" Buster says after a while. "The fast food joint?"

"You, uh… you hungry or something?"

"No… Well, yeah, but that's beside the point." I can hear him shifting the phone to his other ear. His other long blue ear. "Babs skipped out on me after school. I just got off the phone with her. Said she's at Wendy's with Fifi and Shirley."

"You gonna, like, pop in and surprise her?"

"That's the plan."

The plan. "What do you need me for?"

"I dunno. Shirley's there. Thought you might wanna tag along."

"Right. Tag along. Totally. It's just… I'm, like," _think fast,_ "kinda live streaming right now, sooo…" Shrug.

"Sounds like I'm flying solo then."

"Huh?"

"I said it sounds like I'm flying solo."

Why wouldn't he just…? "Uhhh… okay. Good luck?"

"Yeah, see you tomorrow."

Right.  
—Yep.  
Okay.  
—Bye.  
See ya.  
—Cool.  
Tomorrow?  
—Yep.  
Okay.  
—Bye.  
See ya.  
—Bye.

_Click._

Babs isn't going to finish that sandwich. She was never going to finish that sandwich. Five bucks says she isn't going to finish that sandwich.

So… what was that all about?  
Weren't you listening?  
I don't know what SL1 PVP means.  
No, that's—  
What? Some kinda secret cooooode?  
He's on his way. Right now.  
Who?  
Buster!  
He's coming?  
Popping in.

She grabs my burger and fries and dumps them on the tray together with her own leftovers, then folds over the placemat and rolls the whole thing up like a burrito.

"Let's go," she says, grabbing her purse.

Hard to read her face. Big eyes, tight lips. Not happy, not mad. Maybe a little excited?

Go? Where?  
Your place.  
Bad idea.  
You got a better one?

I could try, but she's already dragging me outside, back out through the door that gave her so much trouble, back out into the rain.


	2. Fuck the Bullshit

This isn't right. Takes me forever to figure that out, but when I do it's crushing.

What're we doing? Lying? Why are we lying? Why are we running?

Pull up to the house, climb out, lead Babs around to the side door, over the gravel, key in the top lock, jiggling…

Doesn't look like my sister's home.  
I didn't know you had a sister.  
Yeah, me neither.

Door opens up to the kitchen. I let her in first.

Shoes off?  
Wait til we get downstairs.

Arms full of Wendy's, she follows me through to the den.

"Daffyyyyy?" Mom yelling from her bedroom. "Is that youuuuu?"

Babs freezes. I motion for her to keep going: _Basement door, right there._

"No, Ma. It's me."

She opens the door, steps down, turns back.

"Pluckyyy?" Mom still yelling. "How was school?"

"Fine, Ma." I give Babs a nudge. I give her another nudge. "I'll be downstairs, okaaay?"

She yells something else, but it's drowned out by the clunk of the door.

Lights flicker on, humming. Babs thumps down the rest of the stairs, me following.

"This is it," I tell her. "What you so wanted to see."

Place is a mess—exactly how I left it. Wires everywhere, snaking from the wall to the router to my laptop, which lies closed and blinking in the floor, then up to the Xbox, TV and back. Mom's old couch sticking diagonally out from the wall, crumpled Mello Yello cans lining the floor in front of it. Miscellaneous homework spread out across the coffee table, heaps of dirty clothes, an old vacuum cleaner balanced precariously against the closet door, two empty grease-shadowed pizza boxes, a bulbless, broken floorlamp…

Babs stands biting her lip. It'd be nice if she, like, regretted coming over. That'd be nice.

Instead she lifts one foot and jostles the table with it, upending a mountain of homework, then very daintily sets down our leftovers and takes a seat on the couch.

Alright. What now?

"Your mom seems cool," unfolding those sandwich wrappers.

"You haven't even met her."

"That's why I said she _seems_ cool." Smirk, chewing a fry. "You gonna, like, introduce us?"

"Nah, that's okay."

Smirk morphs into a sad face. Same one I visualize every time she texts colon, open-parenthesis.

"It's complicated," I tell her.

Huh. That's a funny way of putting it. That's a really funny way of putting it.

She shrugs. "You just gonna stand there and watch," patting the cushion next to her, "or are you gonna siddown and finish yer friggin boy-gah?"

"You're the one who's committed."

"Yeah yeah." Bending down almost to the table she takes another small, belabored bite. Still less than halfway through, and she left her pop at the restaurant. Shouldn't have left her pop at the restaurant.

Eventually I join her on the couch.

So, like, complicated how?  
What's complicated?  
I'm asking you. Something about your mom?  
Oh. She, uh, has cancer.  
Wow. Zat, like, how you always break the news?  
If I can. Best to just throw it out there.  
Does Buster know?  
He didn't ask.  
Neither did I.  
Well, sorta, you did.

She drops her sandwich, turns and hugs me.

Hugs me for a long time.

"I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," I say to her shoulder.

"Can I meet her? I really wanna meet her."

Meet her?

What would be the point? Meeting the parents, isn't that reserved for, like, _special _friends? _Significant _friends? Friends who don't compulsively rope each other into awkward situations? What kind of friend does Babs think she is? How would I even introduce her? _"Uhhh, Ma? This is Buster's girlfriend. We had Government together last marking period, and now we, like, sit next to each other in third lunch. Sometimes."_

Is that how it would go? Is that how she thinks it would go? That can't be how she thinks it would go.

Suddenly I feel a laugh coming on, tickling the back of my throat, about to leap up into my nose, but then her phone rings.

"_Are we livin in vain?" Bzzzt. "Are we livin in pain?" Bzzzt. "Girl, remember my name—" Bzzzzzt._

"You gonna answer that?"

She lets go of me, sitting back, then gazes down at her open purse as if peering into the mouth of some dark, terrible cave.

"He can leave a message."

* * *

Six o'clock. Shit. How'd we get to six o'clock?

Look over at Babs and she's yawning, sitting with her back against the armrest, feet up.

"_So, like, what's this SL1 PVP thing all about?"_ That was two hours ago. She's been "watching" me play ever since. Even started streaming, just in case Buster checks my Twitch page. Just in case he gets suspicious.

Covering my ass.

Jig's gotta be up by now. By now he's probably tracked down Fifi, tracked down Shirley, unraveled most of Babs's flimsy lie, thunk on it for a while, and at this very moment is composing some long, dangerously emotional text message which, like gunpowder, will soon shudder dramatically in the belly of that fake Gucci purse lying next to me on the couch.

Or something.

Bored yet?  
Nope. Fine.  
You look bored.  
Just filing my nails.  
Okay, but, like, I've gotta ask…  
Whazzat?  
You'd rather be here filing your nails than—  
Don't be so hard on yourself, Plucky.  
He's not a bad guy.  
We've been over this.  
Not really, we haven't.

For once she takes more than a split second to respond. I glance over at her, but she's looking the other way.

Wish I could pause the game. Wish I could set the controller down. But you don't just pause in the middle of Blighttown. Not in the swamp, you don't.

"Saturday," she says, clearing her throat, "we were at Burdick's, and he started talking about kids. Like, if we had kids, what we'd name them…"

"Yeah, so?"

She snorts. "We've only been dating two months."

"He's just being melodramatic."

"Melodramatic?" I can feel the couch move as she sits up. "Monday he asked me to marry him."

Controller slips out of my hands. "He _what?"_

Big eyes.

"Okay, lemme rephrase that," showing her palms. "He asked if I'd be _willing _to marry him. Like, in the future. If everything worked out. But still—"

"He's in love. Guys say stupid things when they're in love." _You would know. You would fucking know._

She lets her eyelids down. "Comforting."

You want me to talk to him?  
No.  
I wasn't going to anyway.  
I didn't think so. You ever, like, been in a relationship, Plucky?  
Sorta-kinda. Once.  
I didn't think so.  
What's your point?  
Just that it's a lose-lose sitcheeation, the one I'm in.  
Dating someone who loves you?  
Dating someone I _don't_ love. Someone I don't even really _like.  
_Not yet. But like you said, it's only been two months.  
Pfft! Don't remind me. Imagine what he'll sound like in a year…

She sinks back into the couch, bouncing a little when her head hits the cushion.

_You're out of your element, Plucky. Way out of your element._

"Sorry," she says after a while. "I probably sound like a friggin sourpuss."

"Probably."

"Yeah, but it feels good to vent, y'know? Without, like, having to worry about some blabbermouth yapping to everybody at school…"

Slowly I bend down to pick up my controller. I can feel her watching me, but I don't dare look.

"Maybe," she says softly, almost to herself, "maybe that's why I don't mind just sitting here."

Upstairs a door slams, then the floor creaks. My eyes flick toward the tiled ceiling.

Someone home?  
My sister.  
I didn't know you had a sister.  
We've been over this.

Voices swirling upstairs. No words, just tones. Mom, Daffy, Mom, footsteps, more creaking.

"Quick," me whispering, "clear off the table!"

"What for?"

"Just do it!"

She jumps up, shoveling our sandwich wrappers onto the floor, and while she's doing that I shut off the Xbox, fling away my controller and start heaping armfuls of homework back onto the table. By the time the basement door squeaks open we're huddled over an old geometry textbook pretending to look busy, her not really knowing why.

Not really knowing why, but still playing along.

"'Sup, fuckstain," Daffy bounding down the stairs. Her usual greeting. Wearing that ridiculous Acmeloo Grad Bash 2006 teeshirt, acid-wash jeans and oversized zero-prescription nerd specs. The glasses, I've learned, usually indicate that she is currently or will very soon be getting high.

"You wouldn't be-_leeeve," _she drones, eyes on her feet, "the story Mom just told me." She takes a few steps toward the couch before finally looking up.

Shit. Here we go.

"Well well," one hip jutting way out. "Looks like we've got ourselves a study session."

Babs is smiling.

Daffy leans forward, lowering her bill to my ear, then blurts out: "Didn't know you were into the pink ones, little bro."

Ugh.

"And you arrrrre…?" maneuvering around the front of the couch, hand outstretched.

"Babs Bunny. Plea-zed to meet you." She reaches up to complete the shake, but Daffy jerks her hand away.

"We were just, uh, working on a group project," I butt in. "You know, for school?"

"School, eh? Sounds likely." Daffy rolls her eyes, then lets them drop. "What's this," rounding the table, "a little snackypoo?" She scoops up our leftovers. "Someone didn't finish their," peeking under the bun, "spicy chicken sandwich?" She takes a bite. "You don't mind, do you, Pluck?"

"Careful, it's hot."

She stands chewing for a moment, "Not _that_ hot."

"Whatever."

"Anyhoo, remember my old friend Dot? From high school?"

"Unfortunately."

"She's in the hospital. Mom told me."

"What happened?" Babs looking concerned, and she must really be concerned, because I can't imagine how anyone could fake looking that concerned.

"I'm gettin there, I'm gettin there," Daffy still smiling. "Remember she had that pet deer?"

She did have that pet deer. Nuzzling it in her MySpace picture.

"Last week the DNR showed up at her house, said if they didn't release the deer into the wild by such-and-such a date they'd come back and shoot it. Well, you know how Dot is," drawing circles in the air by her head, "she wouldn't give up the deer. Then, yesterday, she got into some biiiiig fight with her stepdad and stole the keys to his convertible. Mustang convertible. Pissed him off so bad he kicked the deer out himself, and don'tcha know…?"

"What?"

"The deer, it ran out across Ten-Mile Road right when Dot was coming down the hill. And she was _fly-ying._ Shattered the windshield, hit her head on the steering wheel, broke the bone right here, all around her eye, and the deer just sort of limped off into the woods. Ironic, huh?"

I've got my chin in my hands, elbows on my knees. "You could say that."

"She gonna be okay?" Babs asks.

"She'll be fine. Nothing her boyfriend hasn't already tried on her."

An annoyed sigh sneaks out of me.

"What's wrong, Pluck? You tired?"

"You could say that," glaring, _Fuck you._

"Alriiight…" she raises both hands, as if to shield herself from getting punched. "Don't mind me. I'll let you get back to your," air quotes, _"group project._ Just remember: Keep it safe, keep it clean, don't do anything Jesus wouldn't do. And Baby Barbie, or whatever your name is," pointing now at Babs, "from one girl to another, it's never too late to reconsider." She takes a huge bite of what was once Babs's sandwich, chews and swallows. "You might already know this, but ducks don't have any external genitalia, so unless you've got some gear picked out you'll have to stick to oral. Anyway, nice to meet you."

Blood from everywhere surges up into my face. Babs is silent. Daffy turns and saunters slowly, bouncingly out of the room and back upstairs, whistling what sounds like the chorus from _Adia, _then very carefully, as if not to disturb us, inches the door shut behind her.

I look at the floor, all those crisscrossing wires. Never should've come here. Never should've fucking come here.

"You think, uh, maybe we should get going?" Babs probably wants to get going. If I were her, I'd want to get going.

Instead she just starts laughing.


	3. Love Loses Out

Getting dark.

Babs is trying not to laugh. I'm shoving her out the back door and she's trying not to laugh. Trying to hold it in.

Fucking family.

My car's blocked in. Daffy parked her little subcompact right up against my back bumper—probably intentionally. Nowhere to go but forward, straight into the garage, and the garage door doesn't open. But that's okay.

Babs, pretending to cough, climbs in on the passenger's side. I start the car.

"Shit," she manages, still snickering, "how're we gonna get outta here?"

There's a little bump as I downshift and roll back into Daffy's front bumper. Babs fumbles for her seatbelt. I crank the wheel all the way to the right, ease forward, shimmy back the other way, then turn and, just mounting the grassy curb, pull nose-first out of the driveway.

"Plucky?" Not laughing anymore. "Are you okay?"

_I dunno, am I?_

Turn left onto West Main, cutting between two cars. Probably should've waited. Once we straighten out I sneak a glance at Babs, and she's looking right back at me.

Plucky, what's wrong?  
Told you we shouldn't have gone to my place.  
I like your place.  
Suuure you do.  
Your sister's hilarious.  
Fuck her.

Yellow light. Gun it.

Babs grabs hold of the armrest below the doorhandle. "I don't get it. Are you, like, embarrassed or something? I wasn't laughing at _you."_

I'm not embarrassed.  
_Zuh?_ Yes you are.  
Prove it.

Without signaling I veer into the right lane and speed around a big burgundy minivan.

Plucky, will you _pleeeeease _slow down?  
Embarrassed? You'd be one to talk. On the run from your own boyfriend…  
What's that s'posed to mean?  
Big fucking deal's what it means.

Jutting out from one of the sidestreets is a long dark car with what looks like a pushbar fixed to the grill. I stomp on the brakes, flinging Babs forward, the speedometer plummeting below forty-five as we roll past. But it's not the cops, just one of those old decommissioned police cruisers. I hate those fucking things.

You want _me_ to drive?  
You've been driving all day.  
Oh, and now _you're _in charge?  
Taking you home.  
You don't even know where I live!  
Fifty-four twenty-two, North Parkview.  
Wrong! I live right _here,_ now stop the car!

As if on command, the light up ahead turns red. She shuffles off her seatbelt, shoulders her purse and, as we reach the curb, heaves open the door.

"Hey, wait!" But she's already on the sidewalk, already slamming the door in my face.

And I'm frozen.

Shit. How'd she do that? How'd she do that so fast?

When traffic clears I hang a right onto Nichols. She's cutting across the grass toward what used to be the parking lot of an exotic pet store. Somewhere on the other side is a bus stop, one of those little glass booths. I zip into the parking lot and, pulling up next to her, slot the window down.

"Babs, what're you doing?"

She wheels around, walking backwards now. "It's okay. I don't wanna be a nuisance. Don't wanna waste any more of your precious _Dark Souls _time."

"Babs, c'mon."

"It's okay." She flicks her wrist, as if to shoo me away, then swivels back around. "Ees okay, Plucky."

Ees okay.

I let my foot sit flat on the brakepedal, watching her go. Suddenly I feel like a huge jackass. Feel like banging my head on the steering wheel. How'd she fucking _do_ that?

And so fast…

She's almost to the bus stop when her phone rings. I can't hear it, obviously, but I can see her jump, tent her elbow, lift her shoulder, glare down at her purse… or is it more of a conflicted look?

Slowly the car rolls toward her. She stands staring at the hood for a while, then reluctantly clambers back in, sinking deeper into her seat than I thought was possible.

Did he leave a message?  
There's a couple messages.  
But you didn't listen to them.  
I already know what he's gonna say.  
What's he gonna say?  
Blah blah blah, where are you? Shirley told me fucking everything…  
Shirley doesn't know about me.  
Doesn't know _what_ about you?

Good question. "Y'know, that we, like, hang out and stuff…"

She eyes me just long enough to inspire doubt. "Doesn't matter. I lied."

"Not about where you were, just who you were with."

She snorts. "And why is that?"

I dunno. Maybe you were embarrassed.  
Like you?  
If it helps.  
It doesn't.

Shrug. "Sometimes we can't see the forest for the trees."

"Please tell me you did not just say that."

Shrug again. "I'll have to come up with something better." Hand back on the steering wheel. "What're you gonna tell Buster when you see him?"

"I'll just tell him I'm on my period. Usually works."

* * *

Sun's all the way down now, headlights a dull green on the newly blue road. Babs sits watching the trees whip darkly by. For a while she had her feet up on the dash, but she took them down when I didn't say anything.

At this point I don't know what to say. Gotta be careful. Gotta be political.

_Just drive, Plucky. Shut up and drive._

"So, like, how do you know where I live?" she asks, finally.

Buster showed me.  
When?  
Right when you guys, uh, first started dating.  
Whoa, creeperrrrr…  
He thought it was cool. Like, how big your house was. And stuff.

It was pretty big. Greek columns out front, windows everywhere, bright red siding, swimming pool, hot tub, three-car garage. Spacious Mattawan Township. Those undulating country roads, the way your stomach feels bobbing up and down, bobbing up and down.

I can feel it right now.

Just promise me one thing, Plucky.  
Okay.  
Promise me you won't say anything.  
About what?  
About what we did today.  
What did we do today?  
Nothing.  
Okay.  
We lied.  
_You_ lied.  
So did you. To your sister, remember?  
I don't care what she thinks.  
Right. And I don't care what Buster thinks, but—  
'Course you do. You're afraid he'll think you're—  
What? Cheating on him? With _you?  
_Why else would you lie?  
I dunno. Why lie to your sister?  
That's different.  
What about all that SL1 PVP bullshit?  
_You_ started that one!

"Ugh," she groans. "Should've taken the bus…"

Silence. Again.

So much for being political.

When I make that final sharp turn onto Parkview it's with a sort of deadness in my shoulders. Maybe that's why the rearview mirror seems so much higher than normal.

Part of me can't wait to drop her off, can't wait to get her out of my face and my head and my ears. Too much teen drama. Too much for one day. Feelings. Boyfriend-girlfriend stuff. Popular kid stuff. Stuff I never wanted to be a part of, either because I'm too mature for my age, or because deep down I'm still a baby.

Probably the first one…

But the deadness in my shoulders, that's something else entirely. The air between us, the unspoken weirdness of today.

Already I'm picturing tomorrow. Picturing her avoiding me. I don't want her to avoid me. Don't want it to end like this—whatever _this _is—realizing too late that it might mean something to me, and to her almost nothing. Something she could just bury under another wimpy, uninspired lie. More bullshit.

Keep on shoveling…

Rearview mirror's gone now. Slouched so low in my seat, I can barely see over the steering wheel. That's probably why I don't notice the deer until it's already cracking the windshield.

The deer.

Fuck.

Head hits the wheel. Horn blares. A loud crunching sound. Airbags explode outward, punching my ribs into my hips. Then it's over.

All over.

"Mother of…"

Somehow the car stopped. I never touched the brakes, never even reacted, but somehow the car stopped.

Dust everywhere. Smells like talcum powder.

Babs is coughing. I wave a hand around to clear the air. She's holding her head, and there's blood squeezing out between her fingers. I can just see it in the dark.

"You're bleeding," I tell her.

She opens her eyes, closes them, opens them, blinking me into focus. "So are you."

Front end's all fucked up. Windshield caved in, hood spread with huge branching indentations, blood and clumps of brownish-reddish hair. There's a big mushy pile of something under the bumper, but I don't want to look at that. I don't want to look at that right now.

Babs stumbles out on the other side. We're stopped in the middle of the road, but no one's coming.

"You okay?" That's me.

She closes the door, wobbling slowly around the back of the car, one hand palming the trunk to steady herself. She almost loses her balance.

"You okay?" Me again, touching her arm.

She leans back against the car, squinting dizzily up at me. "I should, like, be asking you."

"Is it bad?" Drag a hand across my forehead. Too dark to see any blood, and it doesn't hurt, but I can feel something there.

"Could be worse," she shrugs.

Then, as if to prove her point, rain starts pelting the roof of the car. Dense, noisy, furious rain, flooding the wells under my eyes. Like a faucet turned on full-blast.

"Me and my big mouth," she mutters, bowing her head. She looks so sad bowing her head.

"I guess we should, like, call the police, right?"

She nods into her chest.

"Somehow I don't think your period excuse is gonna work."

She looks up again.

I point to where the cut is on my forehead, then to hers, streaming thinly in the rain. "Not this time, at least."

"It's okay. He'd connect the dots sooner or later."

"He's not stupid."

Shaking her head, "He's a good guy. I should be happy."

"You should be happy."

Still shaking her head, "He'll probably hate me. I wouldn't blame him. But whatever."

"We play the hand we're dealt."

"I don't want a boyfriend, Plucky." She stands up straight, folding her arms around me. "I just want a friend."

We play the hand we're dealt. _Did I really just say that?_

She kisses my cheek, squeezing tighter. I hug her back.

"Sorry for being such an annoying little ditz," she says. "I didn't want to drag you into all this, but then, like, at the same time, sorta I did," resting her head on my shoulder. "Guess that means I owe you one."

"Actually, you owe me two."

The next day at school she crams a twenty dollar bill into my jacket pocket. Money for gas, and for the spicy chicken sandwich she never finished. She's wearing a yellow headband to hide the cut on her forehead, but she can't hide the bruise below her left eye. Not even with makeup.

She looks miserable. Looks like she probably didn't sleep last night.

"What happened to you?" Buster asks when he sees me.

I tell him about the deer because I have to, but I don't mention Babs and he doesn't either. By the end of fourth block he's still talking to me, which must mean he's still oblivious, which must mean that, for once, Babs spun a decent lie, or at least a complicated one.

When my sister picks me up in front of the flagpole, I make sure to tell her thanks for the ride and sorry for backing into her car. Her response is, "Don't mention it, fuckstain," followed by, "I hadn't noticed," and then something about karma. Karma working in cycles, the world moving by contradiction…

She's got the radio on. Some chintzy pop-rap song. Jazzy drums and piano. _"Are we livin in vain? Are we livin in pain? Girl, remember my name. And whatever remains…"_

"Wait, what's this song called?" I ask her.

I know this song. It's Babs's ringtone. The one that plays whenever Buster calls.

"_I Hate That You Love Me," _she says. "Cheesy innit?"

* * *

Dedicated to RB, with much laughter. *kiss*


End file.
